One of my favorites – fm Blaine, WA   to Forysth, MT – long, lonesome highways!!

http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?msa=0&msid=206322073496809346014.0004a85dc6bbb70e77196

I think I’m getting the hang of linking to my maps!  Maybe.  Anyway, this was a day in which I rode many miles, in the “wrong” direction, down beautiful roads.  From South Lake Tahoe to Klamath, CA

http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?msa=0&msid=206322073496809346014.0004a80da68f58bd228e2

Again, the hyperlink isn’t working – I’m not that good! – but you can copy & paste or high lite it & then click on “open link.”

This is a link to a google map of my ride fm northern CA to the 2nd corner, Blaine WA – can’t get the hyperlink to work but you can copy & paste or click on it & select “open link”  Good luck…

http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?msa=0&msid=206322073496809346014.0004a80df561d8b196006

July 15, 2011 Asheville, NC

I left my sister Beulah’s early the morning of August 12, heading south from Pennsylvania on Interstate 81.  Interstates, or the Slab, are my least favorite routes.  They tend to be straight, flat, and boring, with lots of chain restaurants and motels in route.  They are also efficient; it was very hot and muggy so lots of miles at 45 MPH on the Blue Ridge Parkway sounded less than inviting.

I stayed on Interstate 81 to Wytheville, VA, 448 miles from my sister’s, and added West Virginia to my list of states, though I was only there for 23 miles.   Amazing how much better time I make on the Interstate, but not amazing enough to make it fun.  I stopped early, keeping open the option of running down the Blue Ridge Park Way the next day.

The next morning, August 13, I turned off the Interstate and picked up the Blue Ridge Parkway.  What a beautiful part of the world!  Check out some pictures at http://s1141.photobucket.com/albums/n595/gypsyjudge/  Sorry, but I couldn’t create a hyperlink today, so you’ll have to copy & paste.

It was only 250 miles to my niece’s in Asheville, so I made a lazy day of it.  The 45 MPH speed limit wasn’t an issue, and the terrain is beautiful.  Perhaps because it was a little higher in altitude, it was a little less hot than the Interstate but no less muggy.  I thoroughly enjoyed the ride, until the gnats came out.  They were biting gnats.  I have vents on my helmet to circulate the air on hot, muggy days, as well as a vent in my windshield for the same purpose.  The vents turned into gnat runways.  One gnat flew in a helmet vent and slowly crawled across my scalp, to be joined by his cousin who went straight for my eyelid.  After strolling between my eyebrow and eyelash, she signaled to the cousin on the high road, and they both began to bite.  The gnat on the eyelid wasn’t satisfied with an ordinary bite, so she pushed the “Swell” button.  I tried opening the face shield to scratch and was greeted by a couple dozen more gnats.  About this time, I came to an overlook, stopped, and jerked off my helmet to scratch shamelessly.  Then I carefully closed each vent, lowered the full-face shield, and jammed the helmet back on my head.  Before I got the strap connected, there were two more gnats playing hide-and-go-seek in my hair.  It was too hot to keep the vents closed, and there were way too many gnats to keep them open.  I was at least two hours north of Asheville.  At times I was able to take a very Zen approach to the gnats; other times, there was a high-pitched whine in my helmet, me at my un-Zen like best.

July 13 was my mother’s birthday; she would have been 97 years old.  She often talked of the Bay of Fundy, though she didn’t get to see it.  So when I got to Maine, I knew I had to make a slight detour to New Brunswick and Fundy Bay.  I had to see it, for Mom.  She had a grand time, through my eyes.

I’m at my niece’s in Asheville, and will leave tomorrow.  It may sound like I’m resting a lot these days, but that’s only because I am 😉 They have scheduled some publicity for my arrival in Key West, and they simply don’t want me there so quickly. So I’ve enjoyed a couple of days visiting with my niece and her husband and playing with their 5 yr old and 2 yr old.  I’ve washed clothes yet again, and chilled out.

On this long trek, I’ve received several warm invitations to stop & visit friends.  And generally I’ve been unable to make that happen because I’m wholly unable to schedule.  At best, I’ve known where I’ll be tomorrow; at worst, I’ve been uncertain where I am today.  If I had a couple of more months for this sojourn, perhaps then I would have been better.

In case you’re counting, I’ve ridden 10,703 miles, through 26 states and 4 provinces.  I’m about 950 miles from Key West and 1,800 miles to my point of beginning, my grandkids and my dog.

With the help of my much-smarter-than-I-am niece, I’m setting up links to show the actual roads I’ve taken.  The 1st is from Fl., to the 1st corner, San Ysidro, CA, and then over to Lake Tahoe.  Hopefully, others will soon follow!

http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?msa=0&msid=206322073496809346014.0004a70b8e35b188e1269

OK – I can’t get the hyperlink to work so you’ll have to do a copy & paste.

July 10, 2011 Hershey, Pa.

On July 7, I headed south on Hwy 1 down the coast of Maine.  That’s a fascinating stretch of road that passes through a wide range of socio-economic strata.  There was a surprising amount of undeveloped or rural land, as well as upper-end, old money homes.  Much of the coastline is rocky with glacier-deep water.

Over the last two years, I’ve taken my RV to work on several Habitat builds around the country and have enjoyed learning construction skills and getting to know other volunteers; it’s a special treat to spend time with the new home owners and attend a dedication/ribbon cutting ceremony.  Picking Habitat for one of my four charities was easy.  Habitat, founded in 1976 by Millard and Linda Fuller, is an international organization that builds decent, safe, and affordable housing and has built or rehabbed over 400,000 houses. However, the houses are not a giveaway.  The new homeowners make a down payment and monthly mortgage payments and are required to provide hundreds of hours of volunteer labor known as “sweat equity.” The construction cost is kept low by the use of volunteer labor and donations of money and material.  Administratively, Habitat for Humanity International acts as an umbrella of sorts for the various local affiliates around the country.   Each affiliate is independently run, and each coordinates all aspects of home building in their area.

On Thursday, I rode over to the Habitat for Humanity Affiliate for Hancock County, located in Ellsworth, Maine.  Relatively speaking, this is a small affiliate with a goal of building two houses a year.  The number of houses built by an affiliate is determined by various factors, including weather, funding, and the availability of volunteers.   My impression was that the Hancock County affiliate is on that uncomfortable, growing edge; they could do much more if they had more help.  The ReStore sells donated building materials, appliances, furniture, and home accessories to fund local Habitat construction.  Strolling through their ReStore, I saw wood burning stoves, furnaces, and other cold-weather items, as well as a fascinating array of almost anything else you can think of.  There was also a shelf of handmade birdhouses, donated and for sale.

I left the Habitat ReStore in Ellsworth mid-day and turned north towards Bangor, Maine, where I picked up Hwy 2 going west.  Hwy 2 is my kind of road; it goes across several states, passing through the heart of our country.  I rode through the rolling green farmlands of Maine and then Vermont, through small towns, some without red lights.  I stopped for the night 381 miles later in Burlington, VT.  The next morning, I headed south on Hwy 7. thinking it was time to be “practical” and take the direct route to my sister’s near Hershey, PA.  But then I passed a small sign on the right that read “NY Ferry.”  So I turned and was soon waiting for the Essex Ferry.  Pictures are at http://s1141.photobucket.com/albums/n595/gypsyjudge/

It was still a long way to my sister’s, and I had an appointment at noon the next day/Saturday for an oil change and possibly new tires.  I knew that if I missed the Saturday appointment, it would be Tuesday before I could get the work done.  (Motorcycle shops are typically closed on Sunday and Monday.)  So I got “practical” and took Interstate 87 south through the Adirondack Mountains, rather than follow the meandering Hwy 2 west through the heart of this beautiful place to which I must return.  And then I stayed on Interstates, forever.  A couple of hours north of my sister’s I rode into a nasty thunderstorm.  I put on rain gear and kept going, but 30 or 40 miles later I stopped under an overpass because I just couldn’t see.  I sat there for a few minutes; the storm didn’t slack off any, and I thought I could wait there forever with no change.  So I headed back into it, whereupon the rain got much heavier.  There were no more overpasses, so I sludged on, and later the rain slacked off some; finally after a long day I pulled into my sister’s after 486 miles.  Less than 5 miles from her house, the odometer rolled past 10,000 miles for this trip!  24 states, 4 Canadian provinces, and more variety than I imagined, stretched out over 5 weeks.

After a couple of days rest, it’s time to get back on the bike.  Tomorrow, I’ll head south.

July 6, 2011, on the coast of Maine near Bar Harbor

A moose by any other name is still a moose. As a new friend pointed out, “Maine elk are actually moose.”  As you might have guessed, we have neither moose or elk in Florida, but I can tell the difference between a ‘possum and a coon.  But now I also know that an elk is about the size of a horse and has branched antlers; a moose stands 6 ½ to 7 ft tall (the size of a SUV) with antlers 4 to 5 ft that you could use to shovel snow.  We also do not have snow in Florida.  Oh yeah, a moose can more aggressive and less predictable.  As I said, I really do not want to meet one on my bike.

Amazing what food and rest will do.  Next door to my motel in Houlton, Maine, was an Irving Big Stop, a Canadian chain of restaurants in truck stops – they serve very good home-cooked food AND the best desserts you’ll find.  A short walk for a couple of meals there, a nap, and a good night’s sleep, and I was back on the road on July 5.  I headed back across the Canadian border, in route to New Brunswick and Nova Scotia, and was again confused by the border patrol.  It doesn’t matter what answer I gave, he acted as though it was the wrong one.  One of his questions was “Are you going to leave anything in Canada?”  I thought of that string of things I’ve lost since Florida — a tent, one shoe, my sleeping bag, a ball cap, my cell phone charger, and my dental floss.  Could he see that crumb trail on his computer?  I responded, “Not on purpose.”  He didn’t smile as he touched the screen again.  He had questions about my last, brief pass through Canada, and then after several more minutes of being displeased with everything I said, he waved me through.  My best guess – they try to trip you up.  And it works.

I stopped at a Welcome Station in New Brunswick, loaded up with good information, and even made reservations at a B&B near the Hopewell Cape Rocks on the Bay of Fundy. But when the lady unfolded a map to give me directions, I began having visual auras, my precursor to a migraine.  (Most of the time my migraines are limited to the auras and nausea; other times they include intense pain and sensitivity to light and noise.)  So I took my medicine, sat in the shade awhile, and when the auras faded without pain, I got back on the bike heading east.

Why was I making this eastward detour from my four corners ride?   In 2002, I woke up on my birthday and spent a few minutes just looking at the ceiling, thinking of life, things I’ve enjoyed, and things I want to do.  And I said to myself, “I want to go to Nova Scotia.”  Hmm.  OK.  “And I want to ride a motorcycle to Nova Scotia.”  Interesting suggestion, since I’d never put my feet up on the pegs of a bike.  But I knew what to do about that minor detail; I called and scheduled myself for the Basic Riding Class.  I had fun with the class and the instructors were awesome; then I bought a Suzuki SV 650.  After riding it for about a year, I knew it wasn’t comfortable enough for long distance rides, and I bought a Yamaha FJR 1300.  I loved the FJR and put 50,000 miles on it before a deer totaled it in July 2009.  I next bought a Suzuki Vstrom 650 – great bike but not comfortable for long rides.  Finally this January I bought the Goldwing GL1800.  And on July 5, 2011, I rode it to Nova Scotia.

I continue to meet amazing people, including Uncle Bobby at the Nova Scotia Welcome Center.  He struck me as a friendly old man who is retired and a little lonely; he enjoys telling people about his home province.  He had his car full of stuff; he gave me several lapel pens (Canada, Nova Scotia) and a CD of gospel played on a ragtime piano.  It was getting late and the wind was blowing hard.   I basically touched base in Nova Scotia and then headed to the B&B “next door” in New Brunswick.

This was my first night in a B&B on this trip – a nice change from the $40 a night, including tax, motel 😉 The Chimera Farms B&B is 7.5 km from one of the prime spots for viewing the tide changes.  I enjoyed getting to know something of the hostess, Marg, a lady with a large heart.  Over the years she has helped raise 13 kids — not foster kids. When a child needed a home, she and her husband simply put another plate on the table.  The child understood he was welcomed, so long as he followed the rules.  She laughed and said, “Almost all of them stayed on, and I have something over 50 grandkids now.”    She’s innately kind, very organized, and hard working.  She also seems to have a knack for saying the right thing. I was the only guest in the house, so this morning there was one place set at the large dining room table.  I felt awkward, and asked her to sit and eat with me.  She declined, but stood at the door and talked.  I had another round of visual auras; my vision cleared more quickly than yesterday.  When I finished my elaborate breakfast that included homemade apple pie, I picked up the dishes to take them to the kitchen; Marg quickly took them from me with a smile and  “It’s my house and my rules.”

I rode the bike to Hopewell Cape Rocks on the Bay of Fundy, home of the world’s highest tides. http://www.thehopewellrocks.ca/

The vertical change in water level can be 50 feet or more!  I got there at low tide and walked out on the ocean floor.  My Pixs are at

http://s1141.photobucket.com/albums/n595/gypsyjudge/?action=view&current=IMG_1563.jpg

I also watched a Peregrine falcon fledgling on a ledge high above the muddy flats.  What an initial flight she will have!  Crossing the prairies somewhere in the Midwest, I watched an eagle flying low as she was being pecked at and harassed by some more earth-bound birds, like sparrows or crows.  I thought that the more earth-bound birds were probably furious with the eagle, for being an eagle – and how like people that is.  The Peregrine fledgling, after learning to fly over massive cliffs and the raging ocean, would never be happy flitting from bush to bush in someone’s back yard.   There is such incredible diversity in our world; it’s time to stop pecking on those who are different, for they may have seen more than we’ll ever know.

Back at the parking lot, I was eating a sandwich when I met a group of Canadians.  I spoke with one lady and gave her my postcard; she called to her friends to come over, and we all talked.  They are an out-going, fun-loving bunch.  They insisted on taking my picture and then checking out my bike.  One of the men explained that his grandchild had been seriously ill and his son and family had stayed at a Ronald McDonald House; he told the others how important it was that the family be together and wonderful the experience with the Ronald McDonald House was.

I could take another four months on this ride, and still not see everything.  The list of “undone” for Nova Scotia and New Brunswick is enormous, but it was still time to head back to the states.

Before I got to the border, I studied for my exam – & it helped.  The officer asked several questions and then made the statement, “So, you were in Canada three days.”  Aha!  I quickly corrected him, “No, I came over yesterday at Houlton.”  He actually smiled and said, “Welcome back.”

I stayed the night in a motel and will go to the Habitat Affiliate in Evanston, Maine tomorrow.  Then I head towards my sister’s in Pennsylvania.

July 4, 2011 Houlton, Maine

“I am always doing that which I can not do, in order that I may learn how to do it.”    Pablo Picasso

On Saturday, July 2, I headed north from Battle Creek, Michigan.  A couple of hundred miles later, the temperature dropped 20 degrees, as I rode up and over the Mackinaw Bridge; back in the trees, the temperature went back up, only to drop again at the Sault Ste. Marie Bridge.  When I crossed the border into Canada, I may have looked like a grown up, even like a grandmother, but I felt like a scared kid.  I’m not sure why I was so daunted by this next leg of the trip, but I was. Going through Customs was straightforward with no problems, until I got about 100 yards down the road, made a wrong turn and got lost.  (Reminder – my GPS got wet in Oregon, and the film on the screen peeled off, making a difficult-to-read screen all but impossible to read; and then I’m hard of hearing, wear ear plugs, and don’t have an audio system in my full-face helmet. So basically the GPS just bongs at me and sometimes I can see which way the arrow is pointing.)  Anyway, 100 yards in was the beginning of my lessons in Canada – they don’t do road signs like we do.  The signs are smaller, and there are fewer of them.  After a big loop, I was heading East on Hwy 17 and feeling slightly less stressed.  The ride across Ontario was OK but it struck me as more routine, less awe-inspiring than much of what I’d enjoyed in the States.  All the speed limit signs read in kilometers, but that wasn’t an issue because my speedometer shows both.  After a bit, I stopped for breakfast at a Tim Horton’s  – a large Canadian chain that’s a cross between Starbucks and Krispy Kreme.  The about-my-age woman behind the counter was a grouch in any language, so grumpy as to be a funny reminder to be careful in my post-menopausal approach to life.   The coffee was good, and then it was time to get back on the bike.  After 469 miles and passing a couple of motels with “No Vacancy” signs, I stopped at a KOA in Renfrew, Ontario, for what proved to be one of my favorite experiences on this trip.  The campground was about a mile down a dirt road sprinkled with gravel, but I was gaining confidence in the Wing’s ability to handle like a dirt bike.  Then, of course, the campground was packed!  Seems July 2 is Canada Day (how little I know!!) but the campground hostess went out of her way to help me, and I was soon parked on a grassy spot behind the cabins, as “overflow.”   She explained how close I would be to the band, now warming up, and the fireworks.  I set up my tent and walked over to the pavilion where the crowd was gathering.  The band was good and played old rock & roll tunes; most people danced – toddlers, teenagers, parents, and even grandparents.  It was fun watching how relaxed everyone was.  I talked to a couple with whom I shared a picnic table; they had a number of suggestions for my travels.  Then the band paused and the fireworks began – it was an amazing display by any measure (better than many cities stateside), but certainly since we were out in the woods, at a campground, and a long way from anywhere.  If you are anywhere near the Renfrew, Ontario KOA for Canada Day, do yourself a favor and stop in.   When the fireworks finally ended, the band began again.  I commented to my new Canadian friends at the picnic table, “This sure beats staying in a motel!”  They laughed, and then got up to dance again.

I was up early on Sunday and on the road by 7:30AM.  Soon Hwy 17 went from two to four-lanes, and I was making good time.  I rode thru Ottawa, managed to stay on the right roads for the tunnel that goes under the St. Lawrence River, and then continued east on Hwy 20.   I was still having some trouble with the Canadian signs and got very nervous in Levis because I thought I was being sent north to Quebec (not on my route!), but that also worked out and I just kept riding east.   Once I crossed into the province of Quebec, the signs that had been bi-lingual now only spoke French – even the important ones that warned of who-knows-what or told of detours.  I also couldn’t communicate with the credit card readers or gas pumps – everything was in French.  I only used my credit card and handed it to a cashier; there was no way I could compute the exchange rate!  And of course, I wasn’t doing well with the liters-to-gallon thing; I think I was paying about $4.70 a gallon for gas, but I’m not sure.   I met a couple, each on a BMW; she was riding the bike I’ve lusted after for some time, the F650 GS (it has an 800 cc engine but for some reason they still call it a 650).  Anyway, she let me sit on it, we talked for awhile, they cautioned me against exceeding 70 MPH, and they dashed away, much faster than their warning to me.  At my next gas stop, I met a couple, each on Harley’s – again a warm exchange between strangers.  They were planning on about 800 miles that day, heading to New Brunswick.  Later I stopped at a Wal-Mart to get something for supper  (I thought I might need to stop for the night where there were no restaurants, and I had finally eaten my whole jar of peanut butter).  When I came out there was a man walking around my bike; he went from the windshield to check the tag on the rear.  I walked up, and we spoke.  I see myself as something of a Johnny Appleseed on two wheels, so I explained my 4 Corners 4 Kids and because he was interested I gave him a card.  Then he asked to take my picture!!  That doesn’t happen every day.  I rode off with another smile, another good memory.

Sometimes I figure out that something is not a good idea by trying it.  I decided to ride back across the border before I stopped for the night because … I couldn’t communicate with the road signs or credit card readers; I didn’t have cell phone service; I didn’t have a clue what the clerk said when she asked if I wanted a bag; and when I stopped the mosquitoes tried to eat me alive.  Plus that couple on Harleys were riding 800 miles.  So I kept riding and turned south at Riviere du Loup, passing several reasonable places to stop for the night.  Then a light rain began – not enough to stop for rain gear but enough to slowly get me wet over the next hour, at which point the mist turned to rain.  By then I was too wet for rain gear, plus I was getting nervous because the light was fading, and there were lots of signs for French-speaking elk.  It was an orange sign with the outline of an elk and the word, “risqué;”  I figured it was not a joke about indecent elk but I wasn’t sure.    On July 4, 2009, I hit a deer in the Rockies and totaled my FJR 1300; so the idea of seeing, much less hitting an elk, indecent or otherwise, consumed much of my energy.  But I still acted like a horse on her way to the barn – I was determined to cross back to the States before I stopped for the night.  Finally I made it to Edmundston where the signs to the border were non-existent, but a helpful couple pointed the way across the bridge (with grates, of course).  Stateside, at last.  But the Border Patrol thought I looked suspicious, I guess.  I would have agreed with my looking weird or tired, but not as a threat to our national security.  Any way, I got invited to pull my bike to the back (under a cover, out of the rain) where a second officer asked lots of questions.  They seemed uncomfortable with the “ gypsyjudge.com” on my windshield, in spite of my explanation; they asked how many nights I’d been in Canada and I told them by mistake what I’d planned (two) rather than what I’d done (one).   I think they thought that was too far for someone as suspicious as me to ride so quickly; I think I agree. The officer pointed at the wet piles of camping gear on the bike but didn’t ask to go through it.  After some time, they let me go, with recommendations of a motel – which, of course, had no vacancies.  Four miles further down the now totally dark road, and 548 miles from the KOA in Renfrew, I stopped at a $50/night + tax motel; I still had no cell phone service.  And by then I was stupid-tired – not a good thing when balancing a 900+ lb couch on two wheels, in elk-dom.

I got up this morning – Monday, July 4, 2011 – & rode to the post office in Madawaska, Maine for a photo op of my 3^rd corner, 8,468 miles from my start point in Pensacola, Fl.   When I pulled up, a car quickly stopped and the lady asked if I wanted her to take my picture.  They are accustomed to us 4 corner people here, plus Madawaska is a small, friendly place.  She took the picture for me – see my photobucket link , http://s1141.photobucket.com/albums/n595/gypsyjudge/ – we talked, I handed her my postcard, she gave me a big hug and rode off.  I sat on my bike, grinning (there’s a line in a song,  “Please, celebrate me home.”  And that’s just what she, a total stranger, had done.)  Then a second car pulled up, and a couple got out, “Do you want us to take your picture?”   We talked, I gave them my card, they suggested stops to make, and then they drove off.  I didn’t get this response in Blaine or San Ysidro, but I didn’t need it then.

Too tired to function last night, I realized I’d ridden nine consecutive days, covering 3,611 miles (averaging just over 400 miles a day), without a break.  And that’s too much for me.  So this morning, I headed south but only 101 miles to Houlton, Maine – as far south as I go if I head east to New Brunswick and Nova Scotia.  On Hwy 1 south from Madawaska, I passed lots of signs for English-speaking elk; about an hour on the road, while being hyper-vigilant, I saw an elk standing maybe 30 feet off the opposite side of the road.  Not what I wanted to see!!

I stopped at the Welcome Center in Houlton, where they hand out literature describing the dangers of hitting an elk – this is something of the elk-strike capital.  The brochure says to not drive around an elk standing in the road; you’re suppose to stay inside your car and hope that it lumbers away, as opposed to charges your car. They forgot to tell you what to do if you’re on a motorcycle.  I checked into a motel early; I have cell phone service and Internet.  Though there were lots of interesting choices, I chose to do nothing for the rest of the day.  Tomorrow, assuming my energy level is up and the thunderstorm we’ve enjoyed the last several hours passes on, I’ll head over to Fundy National Park in New Brunswick because that’s a place my mother often spoke of. I don’t think she ever got to see it.  And I may continue on to Nova Scotia.  The loop to Nova Scotia adds about 1,300 miles to my trip; to Fundy, about 300.  If I were to head straight to Key West and then back to Pensacola (and we know “straight” is not going to happen), it would be 2,830 miles.  Tonight, my spirit of adventure is still tired, so I’ll wait ‘til tomorrow to make plans.

I’ve posted more pictures to my photobucket page – you can check them out at

http://s1141.photobucket.com/albums/n595/gypsyjudge/

If this won’t create a hyperlink, just do a copy & paste.

June 30, 2011 Battle Creek, Michigan

To state the obvious, I didn’t take the high road thru Duluth into Canada.  Hwy 12 is a pretty road, and there was more of it left.  So after a short obligatory run on Interstate 94 in Montana, I rode with Bones and Ruth, SE on Hwy 12.  That is a beautifully remote part of the country; there were sections in which we wouldn’t see a gas station for 100 miles.   At some very remote spot, we passed a sign that said something like “road construction — consider an alternate route,” which I thought was funny because there was NOTHING out there.  Funny,  ‘til we came to the sign that said “pavement ends,” followed shortly by “Stop.”  Of course, it was one-lane “pavement ends,” so we stopped for the flagman in this middle of no-where.  I turned off my bike & walked up to the flagman who explained “some bikes have made it thru” and that the detour will take us down in the ditch, but they blade the quarter-mile of ditch-detour.  When I got back to my bike, a semi had pulled up behind me.  Now the only thing less funny than dropping my Wing – aka a 900 lb couch balanced on 2 wheels – would be to drop it whilst dirt bike riding in a ditch and then be run over by a semi.  So I walked back & talked to the semi-driver.  I told him I wasn’t excited about dirt-bike riding & that I could drop my strato-lounger.  He laughed, “I guess you don’t want me to follow you close & run over you then?” – “You got it.” – “Don’t worry, if you drop it, I’ll help you get it up.”  Whew.  Life was looking better ‘cause he looked like he could get my bike up.  Finally it was our turn – & it was MUCH worse than either Bones or I imagined.  There were ruts 2 to 4+ inches deep, some with hard sides, others with soft crumbly sides.  Some were only a tire width, others were wider.  Some were dry on the bottom, some were carpeted with slimy mud.  Throw in potholes, an uneven camber for the ditch, and a stupid car driver in front that decided to stop in the worst of it all.  But the Wing handled it much better than I would have guessed, & I concentrated on keeping the RPM’s up, the engine pulling, absolutely NO braking, firm grip on the handle bars, & then I just held on while the rear wheel squirted around and the front end jerked.  But I made it – & felt like I’d run a marathon.

We just kept follow Hwy 12 east – briefly into ND, then dipping down into SD, where – if possible – it became more remote.  Hwy 12 crosses the Missouri River, which was flooding in many places.  At one point, they had built something of a levee to run the highway down.  The birding in that area is amazing.  I saw many, many orioles, lots of red-winged black birds, ring-necked pheasants, waterfowl like mallards, loons, coots & pelicans, and a small clutch of ducklings that were waddling into the tall grass beside the road.  By now, the mountains had dropped away and we were riding flat, straight roads.

The second night, (after Bones realized I’m not put off by budget motels), we stopped at a “small” motel in Aberdeen, SD, after a 456 mile day.  My room was $40 for the night, including tax!!  OK, so they didn’t have Wi-Fi, coffee, or turn down service with a mint on the pillow – but it was very clean & the bed was comfortable.  When I went out the next morning, there was Bones cleaning my windshield.  Better than a mint on the pillow 😉 We walked to breakfast, and Bones said he had called some friends in Minneapolis – they were going to take off from work & ride out to meet us.

We continued on Hwy 12 east into Minnesota and had stopped for gas when I heard this growing rumble – up pulled 2 Harleys & 1 Valkyrie – Bones friends had found us.  Donnie & Gilbert were on the Harleys; Dave on the Valkyrie.  After some introductions and good-natured kidding, I told them I was going to stay the night with Ken & Maureen in Minneapolis (friends of a friend, people I hadn’t met); they said, “OK, we can take you there.”  Hmm, so I called Maureen & told her a group of Harleys was going to deliver me to her doorstep.  She laughed & said to be sure they all come inside, and that a bunch of Harley’s parked outside her house should be good for her neighbors.  We left, and when we got into the 5 o’clock bumper-to-bumper traffic in Minneapolis, I almost wished for more ditch dirt bike riding.  It was AWFUL.  I was running #4 in the pack, with Dave behind me, and Bones just in front.  Then, of course, the back 3 bikes began to get separated from the two guys up front who knew where we were & where we were going.  Bones solved the problem by lane splitting; I passed on that learning opportunity and watched him disappear into the waves of traffic ahead.  I tried to get Dave to lead, but he wouldn’t – found out later he didn’t where we were either.  Any way I was on my own in that mess.  I kept moving & finally found Bones and Donnie waiting in a split in the road.  After more than an hour in that hell, with the traffic moving just enough that I couldn’t put a foot down but not fast enough to totally release the clutch, we pulled up to Ken & Maureen’s – actually, the other guys roared up and I arrived sounding like a Singer sewing machine. Maureen was the perfect hostess & was undaunted by this crowd of strangers on her well-manicured lawn in a very nice section of Minneapolis.  She served hors d’oeuvres & asked many questions.  Ken came in from work (he’s an attorney who does primarily insurance defense work); like Maureen, he was intrigued with this group of unusual visitors.  Then they roared away, heading for a Mexican restaurant.  I settled into the very comfortable home of my hosts, and we began to get to know each other.  Soon the day was over; after a good night’s sleep & a delightful walk in a large park across the street, it was time to get back on the bike.  But not before Lauren, their delightful daughter had her picture taken on my bike, with her parents.  I left Minneapolis on Wednesday, heading to Evanston, IL (a suburb of Chicago)

I’d had such a good time on Hwy 12 that I thought I’d again take a “road less traveled” as I headed to Sarah’s, my niece in Evanston.  The ride thru Iowa was beautiful with rolling hills, corn as far as you can see for miles, picture post card barns, and an occasional Amish home But then reality began to raise its ugly head.  I left Ken & Maureen’s late, hit some construction traffic, took the long way, forgot to have lunch until 4 PM, AND rode too many miles.  But I finally got to Sarah’s just before 8PM  – good news, the 5 o’clock traffic was over.

This morning, Thursday, June 30, Sarah & I enjoyed a slow breakfast, several walks, a “tour” of Lake Michigan (it’s like a quiet ocean & surprisingly clean), I had my cell phone fixed, and Sarah showed me how to post a URL link to my google map.  (I’ll work on the map & let you know when it’s up.)  But after lunch I’d again run out of excuses.  So I headed south through Chicago on Interstate 94 which was not as bad as the traffic in Minneapolis (but it still took 2 hours to go 70 miles).  I stayed on Interstates for my short day (only 200 miles but it included some rain) and stopped for the night in Battle Creek, Michigan.

I’ll cross over the boundary into Canada, go north of the Great Lakes, and come back down into Maine.

Miscellaneous trivia — I’ve ridden 7,100 miles, through 19 states.  Tomorrow I will have been on the road for 4 weeks.  It’s 1,025 miles from here to Madawaska, Maine; then it’s another 2,113 miles down to Key West if I stay on Interstates (which won’t happen) and if I don’t “swing by” Nova Scotia (which adds another 800 miles to the ride).  And then I head back to NW Fl where my grand kids live and my dog is kenneled – another 800 miles.  I think I’ll make it to Key West within my self-imposed six week schedule, but doubt I can get back to my dog, Grace that quickly.

There have been stretches when I doubted my ability to make this ride, but a couple of days ago I realized I can and I am.  I’ve met amazing and kind people, seen something of this diverse country from the seat of a motorcycle, improved both my riding skills and my confidence, and generally had a grand time.  I’m looking forward to getting that 3^rd corner!